4 Michael Corner and The Entente Cordiale
by ivoryglobe2
Summary: Short stories told in real time in the Potterverse, following the career of Michael Corner. 4. It is the Quidditch World Cup. Michael befriends a party of Beauxbatons students and saves them from a party of Death Eaters.


Michael Corner and the Entente Cordiale

Dad would tease Mum about her magic, which was a risky strategy, seeing as he knew what she could do.

'I mean, what is it about these magic people?' he said. 'Every single one I have met, with the possible exception of you and Mike, is stuck in some 1950s time warp. It's the way they dress, and the way they talk, the radio and the fact that none of them watch TV. Even Mike's school sounds like a throwback to Biggles and Dan Dare.'

'It's because we can do things that you can't,' she replied loftily.

'And that's another point,' he said. 'Most of the things you can do with magic, we _can_ do now, with technology. My guess is that that the 1950s was the last time that magic had a serious advantage, so that's the time that magicians cling on to. There's not much that magic can do that technology can't.'

So she magicked him his own personal thunderstorm and smiled serenely as he went to get his umbrella. This was not the first time they had had this argument and he had a special umbrella, with no metal parts, so that it wouldn't be struck by tiny bolts of lightning.

That's one thing about Dad. He's Professor of Economics at the University of Thirsk and when he makes a point he makes it hard and sticks with it.

It wasn't raining in the car, though the sky outside looked threatening. 'I'm sure this is wrong,' he said, peering at a signpost. 'The sign says this way but surely that takes us back to Buxton.'

'It's fine,' said Mum. 'It means we're nearly there. It's the Repulsion Charms working. Drop us when you can and we'll go on by foot.'

'That the other thing I hate about magic,' he said. 'The way it messes with your head.'

As soon as we were out of sight of the road, Mum did a _Point Me _charm and we set off down a footpath through some woods. The packs were heavy (I was carrying the tent) but we very soon started to meet with other walkers with heavy packs and some rather strange choices of clothing. Ballet shoes are not great for walking, and tiaras seemed a trifle out of place.

After an hour or so we came to a barbed wire fence that bristled with charm, but there was just an open field with a few sheep on the other side. When we climbed a style over it the sheep had vanished and we were in a crowded reception area with snaking queues of people waiting to get through the security barriers in a long red, white and blue striped pavilion with World Cup logos flashing randomly all over it.

Getting through it took virtually the whole morning and we were hot and irritable by the time we got to the camp. We had probably hit the busiest period. Mum spotted a couple of friends and I waved to Elaine Carberry. She was a Griff second-year and I probably wouldn't have deigned to notice her if we had been at school. It wasn't badly run, there were just hundreds and thousands of people. About a hundred thousand, in fact, but we were at our pitch site just before it was time for lunch. We got the tent up eventually and watched enviously as some people erected their tents with magic. They bloomed all around us like giant multi-coloured mushrooms, whereas ours was a Millett's bog standard. Almost. Mum had made it bigger on the inside than on the outside.

We ate our sandwiches at the table in the kitchen and Mum went to make up the beds. I went to investigate the camp and things started to look up a bit when a girl emerged from a tent nearby.

I said 'Hi!'

She said 'Bonjour.'

'You're French!' I said stupidly. 'Er .. Vous etes Francais.'

She giggled 'What do you expect?' she said. 'Zis is a Wold Cup.'

'Your English is good,' I said. 'I wish I spoke French.'

'You spoke it jus' now,' she said. 'I 'eard you.'

'That's about all I can speak,' I admitted. 'Do you learn it at school?'

'Of course,' she said. 'We 'ave to speak English. All ze grimoires, ze spell books, are in English, or Latin.'

'Surely there are some in French,' I said.

'Zere were, years ago. But all were burned after ze Revolution.'

'I see,' I said trying and failing to remember anything about the French revolution. 'I'm Michael. I'm at Hogwarts.'

'I know you must be,' she said. 'I'm Michelle. I am at Beauxbatons.'

'So we have the same name,' I said.

'So we do. I am meeting other Beauxbatons students. Would you like to come too?'

'Mum!' I called. I'm just going with someone from, Beauxbatons?'

Michelle nodded.

'Don't forget to get back in good time for the match,' called Mum.

'She is very relaxed,' said Michelle. ' My Maman would not let me go except with people she knew.'

'Oh, I reckon Mum thinks I can't get into too much trouble here,' I said. 'Of course, I could prove her wrong, yet.'

Michelle giggled, once she had worked it out, and went round to the next tent in the row, where we met Florent, Sebastian and Amelie, who also spoke good English, laughed at my French and said they wanted to practice. I realised that there was a row of identical tents, all looking rather military and neat.

'We come wiz a school party,' said Florent. 'Madame Maxime is meeting your Minister. She will be back soon, I guess.'

'What's she like?' I said.

'You will see,' said Florent. 'She is not easy to miss.' And they all laughed.

'Oy, Corner,' yelled a voice. 'Don't you go fraternising with the enemy.'

'Go away, Malfoy,' I said. 'They're French. And we aren't playing, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'You really don't know anything, do you?' he said, and stalked away with his trolls trailing behind him.

''Oo was zat?' said Michelle.''Ee was rude.'

'Just a creep at my school,' I said. 'Ignore him. I generally do.'

'Ee is a part Veela,' she said. 'Wiz zat blonde, blonde hair.'

'Malfoy's a really seriously pure-blood wizard,' I said. He's in Slytherin House, and they're all pure-blood. He's not part anything. What is Veela?'

'Zey are creatures, very magical,' said Amelie. 'They are witch spirits. Ver beautiful. Ver blonde hair'

'Except when zey get angry,' said Florent. 'Zen not so beautiful.'

'We have some of Veela blood in our school,' explained Sebastian. 'So we know.'

We spent an hour or so talking about our schools, and Beauxbatons sounded very like Hogwarts. They were all a year ahead of me, but I think they started a year older than we did. They had six houses (Michelle was in Allouaire, the others were in Sanglierette) and they didn't have a lake, but the lessons seemed to be pretty similar. They even taught me a spell, one of the very few spells that survived in the French: _Ennuiage_, which made the caster not invisible, but unnoticeable, enveloped by a sort of grey, boring mist.

'It makes you truly dull,' Michelle told me. 'Like being the most boring person at a party. Nobody notices that you are there.

I only went back to Mum when Madame Maxime returned, and she was indeed hard to miss. She was absolutely vast. Not fat, but more than twice, more than three times as tall as me and dressed in a green and gold robe that somehow made her look even taller. But she was very nice and shook me by the hand and told me to give her regards to The Proflet (she called him Cher Filius) who would have been about the same size as her hand.

The match was interesting, though it would have been more exciting if one of the home teams had been playing. Mum and I went back to our tent but there were loads of bangs and wizzes as people let off steam so there wasn't much point in going to bed. I were just having a hot chocolate, waiting for the noise to die down when there was a tap on the tent door. Michelle put her head in.

'Hallo, I am so sorry,' she said. 'Zere is trouble, and it is coming this way.'

I noticed that the noises were getting louder and there was more shouting and less wizz-banging.

'We are going to the forest, to keep out of the way,' she said. 'Do you want to come too?'

Mum and I went to have a look.

'Oh, that looks nasty,' said Mum, looking very worried. 'I think they've got some Muggles. We haven't seen that for years. Is your teacher with you?' she asked Michelle.

'She asked me to ask you,' said Michelle.

'That's very kind of her,' said Mum. 'You go with them, Mike. I'll keep an eye out here. Have you got your wand?'

The other Beauxbatons students had already left and Michelle and I had to run after them. I was pretty spooked by the crowd that was approaching. It wasn't very big, but they were all hooded and surrounded by a green glow. Several people, the ones Mum thought were Muggles, were floating helplessly above them. We caught up with Amelie and some of the others among the trees, but they were spooked too, because they had lost Madame Maxime. How could you lose Madam Maxime? Amelie spotted some other students approaching along the path and asked them if they had seen her (I think, it was in French). They looked blank, which was unsurprising because I recognised one of them.

'That was Hermione Granger,' I said. 'So one of the others must have been Harry Potter.'

''Arry Potter?' said one of the other students. Jeanette, I think. 'You know 'Arry Potter?'

'Sure,' I said. 'He's in my year. He's in Gryffindor, so I don't know him that well.'

'Then we should follow 'im,' she said.''Ee's famous.'

'You don't want to go anywhere near him,' I said. 'He's trouble. If there's trouble he'll be in the thick of it.'

'Is he one of these … people?' said Jeanette, indicating the Muggle-baiters.

'No, absolutely not,' I said. 'I reckon he's trying to get away, just like us. But wherever he goes, trouble will follow. He's a trouble-magnet.'

I was saved from having to explain what a trouble-magnet was by a barrage of loud pops as a bunch of hooded figures Apparated nearby.

'Stupid Ministry,' said one of them. 'That was just getting fun. Trust them to spoil it.'

'I thought Lucius had sorted them,' said another. 'Tell you what. I know there's a bunch of Frenchies around. Why don't we look for them?'

Well, they wouldn't have to look far. We were not ten feet away from them and the Beauxbatons students were cringing back in a tight knot.

I didn't have time to think clearly. I just had time to hope that it worked. I said '_Ennuiage'_ as quietly, yet forcefully, as I could and the spell's grey mist formed around the whole party. It was exhausting, and I had to lean against a tree for support, but I didn't have to keep it up for long as a stream of green stars, like a big Muggle rocket, erupted into the sky. Instead of bursting into a shower of sparks, it formed a huge green and glowing skull.

The hooded figures looked up at it and gasped.

'The Dark Mark?' said one. 'He's back?'

'I don't believe it,' muttered another. 'But I'm not hanging around,' and he Disapparated, and in a couple of seconds they had all gone and I dropped the spell.

'What's that?' I said staring at the skull.

'It is the Dark Mark,' whispered Michelle. 'Lord Voldemort's sign. He 'as returned.'

'Voldemort?' I said. 'Did you have him in France?'

'Oh, you English!' she said, glaring at me. 'You think it is all about you. 'Ee is French. 'Is name is French. It means 'Stealer of Death'.'

'It means 'Flight of Death',' said Amelie.

'It means 'Wish of Death',' said Jeanette.

'If he's back it means all of them,' I said. 'It means trouble. But I'm fairly sure he isn't French.'


End file.
